


Nobody Knows, Lord

by MooseFeels



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Concussions, EMT Castiel, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Dean Winchester, internal bleeding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 04:33:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1332025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooseFeels/pseuds/MooseFeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam takes a nasty hit on a hunt, bringing someone totally new into their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody Knows, Lord

His head makes a serious noise against the concrete- a slick crack that echoes in the house.

Dean looks from his brother to the thing in front of him and fires off two rounds- one, chk-chk, two. It smokes and screams and disappears for a moment, just long enough for Dean to dive through space and drop a lit match over the gasoline soaked bones.

More screaming. A smell of fire.

Dean turns and lets all of his attention settle on Sam, whose eyes are closed and whose breathing is shallow.

“Hey,” Dean says urgently, kneeling over his brother, gently patting his cheek. “Hey, hey Sammy, you in there? You with me? Come on, open those pretty eyes for me. You think you can do that? Come on Sammy.”

Sam inhales deeply, intensely. His eyes flutter open and then back closed.

Dean reaches out and holds them open. The pupils are unfocused; not enough light in the space for them to shrink or respond at all.

“Hey,” Dean says. “Hey, Sam, come on. Open up.”

Sam’s eyes open, but they’re still unfocused. “Don’ wanna, Dean,” he slurs. He sounds so small all of the sudden. Like a little boy. “Don’ feel good.”

“I know,” Dean soothes. “I know. But I’ve got to make sure you’re okay, little brother.”

“Don’ make me go to school,” Sam slurs. “Don’-don’ want to go.”

Dean huffs a laugh. There is no humor in it.

“Shit,” he says. “I guess that answers my question about what year it is. Hey, can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up for me?”  
Sam looks at them for a long time before his face cracks and he says, “Stop moving them, Dean, I can’t count that fast.” Sounds like he’s about to cry.

“Okay, Sammy, okay,” Dean says. “Okay. It sounds like you’ve got a nasty concussion right now, okay? I need you to stay awake for me while I call someone. Can you do that? Can you stay awake?”

Sam begins to nod but stops. “Feel dizzy,” he says.

“Yeah, I know, baby boy,” Dean says. “Just stay awake, okay? Gonna make a phone call. Just listen to my voice.”

“Okay,” Sam sighs. The word sounds heavy in his mouth, breathed roughly and tiredly.

“Hey,” Dean says into the phone. “Sam’s taken a bad fall. I need some help.”

“Dean,” Sam says, urgently. “Dean, I’m gonna throw up.”

“Okay, Sammy, okay,” Dean says, putting the phone down to help his brother sit up and over, so he doesn’t vomit on himself or such that he would suffocate.

Sam pukes and blood comes up with it.

“Shit,” Dean hisses. “Shit, okay. Hey, Sammy, I need you to stay awake for me okay?”

Sam’s eyes have rolled back into his head. Distant.

Bobby is practically screaming into the other end of the phone, but Dean doesn’t hear him. Dean doesn’t care. He’s got to take care of Sammy, got to make sure he’s alright. He hangs up and dials Nine-One-One frantically, all while trying to talk to Sam, to keep him present and at least somewhat responsive.

This isn’t what’s going to happen. This isn’t what happens to Sam. This isn’t his end.

This can’t be. This can’t be.

 

 


End file.
